Until it Hurts
by Orison
Summary: 9x01 coda dealing with the repercussions of Steve's ordeal inside the sensory deprivation tank. He wants to believe he's fine but he's not. And Danny knows it.


**Until it Hurts**

A/N: You knew this was coming, right? I couldn't pass the opportunity to write a piece about the wonderful season opener… "Cocoon" ranked amongst the best 5-0 episodes, at least to me. It had action, great McDanno moments and positively creepy scenes. One of those gems I will be rewatching over and over.

Now, they insist on painting Steve as a superhero (which I don't mind, most of the time) but even superheroes can be affected by extreme situations like a sensory deprivation tank so I'm not buying the whole "I'm completely fine" attitude. The show has a long history of ignoring Steve's PTSD, and it is my belief that the experience HAD to have affected him somehow. This is my take on what he may have gone through in the days after the events on the Arcturus. Let me know if you like it, I'd love to read your opinions on whether or not you think this is plausible.

* * *

 _'He's dead, sir.'_

 _Dead._

 _I'm dead!_

The ominous thought startled Steve out of his nightmare.

Bathed in a cold sweat, sheets twisted around his limbs, he blinked at the bare ceiling, heart pounding inside his chest.

His eyes darted around as if expecting to find an enemy somewhere and his muscles flexed, bracing for a fight, but he knew whatever threat he'd imagined was not real. Never had been.

There was only darkness.

And silence.

 _So vivid._

 _It had all been so real._

It made him mad, so unbelievably angry because he knew, he damn well knew Wo Fat was dead. He'd made sure of that, put a bullet through his head. And yet his subconscious kept taunting him...

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Steve looked at the clock on the nightstand. 3:24am.

This was the third night in a row.

He hadn't been able to get some decent sleep since his ordeal inside the Arcturus.

He'd go to bed and lay there in the dark, tossing from one side to the other, trying to focus on his breathing and make himself fall into slumber. Until some of those breaths started to get caught in his throat and pain seized his chest, making it hard to draw air in his lungs.

Until nightmares roused him from the light doze he kept falling to.

Untangling himself from the sheets Steve swung his legs off the bed and sat up, putting both hands on the mattress to steady himself. Cold chills ran up his spine as his bare feet hit the floor and he shivered, the remnants of his nightmare still clinging to his mind.

When he finally stood up he felt worse than he had when he'd crawled between the sheets at midnight. Padding across the room to the bathroom, he turned on the cold water and splashed some on his face, relishing the feeling of the soothing liquid on his skin.

The man who stared back at him from the mirror when he straightened back up was someone he barely recognized: dark circles under bloodshot eyes and a haunted expression he thought he'd been hiding but had obviously failed to.

On impulse, he reached for the medicine cabinet and took out the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed him a few months before. He held the orange container in his hand and stared at it, debating whether to take them or not. They worked quite well but made him feel groggy the next day, and left a lingering taste of metal in his mouth that reminded him of blood and didn't sit well with his stomach.

Eventually deciding against it, he placed the pills back inside the cabinet and walked back to the bedroom, looking at the tangled mess that was now the bed he'd carefully made in the morning.

His shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no point in forcing himself to lay down again. He knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight. Grabbing his cellphone, he headed downstairs to the living room, briefly stopping at the bottom of the stairs to listen for sounds.

There were none.

Heart still beating faster than it should and unsettled by the lack of noises around him, Steve turned on the small lamp near the door and slumped into the recliner, sighing heavily.

He functioned quite well during the day. To everyone, he had been the same old Steve. Calm, collected, stoic. The leader they all looked up to. He'd held his head high. Smiled, cracked jokes. But as soon as he was alone, the mask dropped. Emotions ran wild, doubts lingered, tears fell.

Each of his friends would tell him it was a completely natural reaction, and yet he couldn't help feeling disappointed and angry at his mind's betrayal. He'd been tortured before. Shot, beaten. Survived pretty much every curve ball life had thrown at him. This wasn't supposed to be any different.

So why was it bothering him?

The first time he'd seen the tank he'd involuntarily shuddered, questioning his decision to volunteer for the job. Despite his training, he knew there was a chance his plan could backfire and the experience could break him, but he'd really had no choice. They'd killed his friend. Threatened to kill more. They needed to be stopped.

Only he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for.

And almost lost his sanity in the process.

He'd tried — God knows he'd tried. Nothing in his face had betrayed his fear as Kang described what he was about to go through and what was expected of him. He'd worn a mask of defiance and surety. Stoicism had then turned to anxiety, and he'd struggled to quell the overwhelming sense of dread that had gripped him as his eyes, ears, nostrils were sealed. The ordeal was potentially worse than anything he'd ever experienced and the fear of losing control, his biggest fear, had slowly crept up, eating at the resolve he'd been holding onto.

Inside the tank, time had stretched on. He had tried to engage his brain at first, using the tricks they'd taught him in the Navy, until the complete absence of stimuli had taken over and seconds, minutes, hours had ceased to have relevance, lost all their meaning. He'd floated there, drifting aimlessly. Weightless, hovering in a space where he was and wasn't, where there was no sight or sound, just nothingness slowly taking over.

For how long, he did not know. He had found out when it was all over.

6 hours 08 minutes 01 second.

Would his team come to rescue him, he'd asked himself. Would he even realize it if they did? He'd panicked then, feeling trapped, losing that control he'd desperately tried to hold onto, and his brain had snapped.

'… _What was a human being is now a vegetable. A very compliant vegetable at that…'_

A compliant vegetable.

That's what they'd tried to turn him into.

If it wasn't for his training, his mind would've washed out like that bastard Kang had threatened.

If it wasn't for Danny, who had showed up with perfect timing and saved his life, he would have drowned in that tank.

The realization filled Steve with renewed frustration and he leaned forward, resting his head between his hands. He didn't have a name for the hollow, empty sensation in his chest but knew that it was time to stop pretending he was fine.

* * *

Danny sighed as he watched the light turn on in Steve's living room.

3:30am.

Like clockwork.

He was parked outside his best friend's place for the 3rd night in a row, wanting to give him space but unable to quell the urge to be close to him in case he needed help. Help that in true McGarrett fashion the man would never admit he needed, so keeping a discreet distance was the only thing he could do, at least for now.

When had that become his life? One brush with death after another, sleepless nights filled with endless worry and a love, a care so deep that he'd move heaven and earth just to keep him safe.

He'd never felt such a bond with anyone else before. Steve had gotten under his skin in that sneaky, stealthy SEAL way and now their lives were so intertwined, so attuned to each other than he had never questioned the compulsion to drive to his place and just sit there, feeling his presence and reassuring himself that he'd survived yet another war.

6 hours 08 minutes 01 second.

The numbers on the timer in that creepy lab were still etched in his mind, the digital read-out burned into his very soul. Six freaking hours floating inside a vat, arms and legs restrained, a silicone mask sealing his face.

Danny closed his eyes, shivering in spite of himself. He wouldn't have lasted an hour. With his claustrophobia and all, he would've surely gone crazy.

And yet Steve had made it through.

Endured the pain, and even found some strength left to kill a bunch of lab techs and throw Kang into the vat.

Only this wasn't the usual split lip or king-size bruise he normally sustained during a fight. This was heart-seizing, terror-filled psychological torture, the kind of nightmarish experience that screws with your brain, and Steve wasn't bouncing back from it as quicker as he'd expected or wanted everyone to believe.

The fact that he woke up every night from what Danny assumed were nightmares was a painful reminder of that.

Torn between his need to help and the will to honor his friend's wish to be left alone Danny leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He regretted it a second later, when images of Steve in that hideous red wetsuit assaulted his brain.

It happened every time he tried, so he could only imagine what Steve was going through.

He had known, from the moment they'd come up with the plan, that it was a bad idea. He'd watched him enter the warehouse alone through his binoculars and his stomach had churned, worry already spiking despite the familiar 'I'm gonna be fine' reassurance and the cavalry — Five-0, SWAT and HPD — standing by.

There was no stopping Steve once he set his mind to something. No amount of reasoning or discouraging, especially when it was about justice for someone he knew. Only they'd underestimated the danger this time, the craziness of Kang's plan and the repercussions it would have.

Big time.

The wait on the warehouse roof had been excruciating. Danny had paced back and forth, restless and on edge, his mind going a mile a minute. Even Lou's steady presence at his side had done nothing to calm him down.

As the hours ticked by his fear had mounted, sharp and unrelenting, up until the moment he'd jumped for no reason, startled by the powerful feeling that something bad had happened to Steve. He'd stared at the ship, shaking his head and wondering if he was going crazy.

He wasn't.

The bond he shared with his partner couldn't be defined by words and the strange, almost supernatural sensation was just one of the many examples of just how much they were connected to each other. Danny couldn't explain what he'd felt, but he knew with absolute certainty that Steve was in trouble and they needed to go.

Seeing Agent Greer quickly leaving the ship moments later had all but confirmed his suspicions.

It was time to move.

Rage had coursed through his body at the thought that the CIA operative had been on Kang's side all along. She had misled Steve, persuading him to help her so that they could both get what they wanted. And Steve had fallen for it, because friendship and loyalty were principles he still lived by despite the hurt of the betrayals he'd suffered in the past.

Danny unconsciously curled his hands around the steering wheel, wishing he could shield him from all the horrors, all the pain that old and new memories were haunting him with.

When he'd burst inside the cocoon, rifle at the ready, his heart had nearly stopped. That son of a bitch Kang had wrapped something around his friend's neck and was keeping him down into the water. Danny didn't know how long he'd been at it; all he could see was Steve struggling and about to lose consciousness, and he'd pulled the trigger without even thinking.

When his partner had resurfaced moments later, gasping for air, the way he'd looked at him had brought back memories of another rescue, another ordeal that had left him struggling with grief and nightmares for weeks to come.

And now this.

Steve really couldn't seem to catch a break.

Danny glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 3:44am.

He could sit there for a few more hours and wait for the light to turn off like he'd done for the past two nights, or he could do something to stop this from happening again tomorrow.

He and Steve had been through more crap than any man should in a lifetime, there wasn't anything he could say that would surprise or scare Danny any more than he already was. That knowledge gave him the resolution to pick up his phone and send a quick text.

 _You ok?_

If Steve knew he had been sitting outside his house he'd never mentioned it. Still, he figured it could do no harm to let him know he was there if needed.

The reply came in a few minutes later, and Danny pictured his friend struggling to write that pained, two-letter word.

 _No._

Swallowing hard, the Jersey native ran a hand through his hair as he considered his next move. The admission was as unexpected as it was upsetting, fueling those feelings of protectiveness that had earned him more than a few eye rolls in the past. But Steve's honesty was a call for help, and Danny's fingers started moving on the virtual keyboard again.

 _Outside if you need me._

To hell with the 'mother hen' crap. He'd gladly get called any name in the book if it meant helping his friend through this nightmare.

This time, the response was immediate.

 _Door's open._

Without wasting any more seconds, Danny climbed out of the Camaro and headed towards the front of the house. The night air was cold and invigorating, and with each step it cleared away the weariness that over the course of three sleepless nights had seeped into his bones.

Hesitation froze his hand in mid-air before it touched the doorknob as he thought about what he'd find on the other side of that door. It only lasted a second. Taking a deep, calming breath, Danny took hold of the knob and twisted it slowly, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Steve was sitting in the recliner, head between his hands, elbows on his knees. He didn't react to his presence, seemingly lost in god knows what kind of frightening thoughts.

"Hey. What's going on?"

Danny kept the tone light, pretending things weren't as bad they seemed, and he hadn't just showed up at his partner's house worried sick in the middle of the night. Until Steve raised his head and he saw the haunted look on his face. The hollow eyes and pained expression were the same ones he'd stared at inside the cocoon, after he'd helped him out of the tank.

In that moment, Steve had looked more like a scared victim than the fearless leader they'd all come to respect, something Danny wasn't sure he could stomach again. Sure, he'd joked a second later, but that was just a sad attempt at breaking the tension.

Thrusting his hands deep in his pockets, the blond detective took a few steps forward and sat down on the ottoman in front of him.

The former SEAL let his hands drop from his face and offered him a sad smile, one of those apologetic smiles that said _'sorry, I should be able to handle this myself'._ "I couldn't sleep…" he admitted, letting his head fall again. "Thought about going for a swim but it's still too dark."

Danny bit his lip, feeling the urge to hug him, reassure him and never let go.

While it surprised him that Steve would seek refuge in the water so soon after his ordeal it kind of made sense to him, and he couldn't help wondering if the ocean was the place his friend had turned to the past two nights when the lights in the living room had gone off.

"Can't fall asleep either," he replied. It was a partial truth, because he'd never be able to rest until he knew Steve was okay. Danny was a caregiver. Being there for his family was what he was good at.

"Junior home?"

Steve shook his head. "He's been crashing at a friend's place lately. Said he wanted to give me some space. Took Eddie with him tonight. It's… just me."

The way his voice faltered on the last sentence sent all kinds of alarms off in Danny's brain. He was starting to put the pieces together and the picture they were painting made his heart clench painfully in his chest.

Why hadn't he thought about it sooner?

He stood up, almost abruptly, and started to pace.

Steve looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What was it like? In the tank?" The question, direct and honest like only Danny Williams could be surprised them both, and it was the last thing Steve expected to hear. He froze, mouth half open in surprise and maybe a little fear, and Danny raised his hands in regret, trying to come up with something that would justify an inquiry he never should've asked. "I know you don't wanna talk about it but maybe it'll help?"

Surprisingly, Steve didn't get upset or fled the room and actually seemed to consider an answer. Danny sat down again and held his breath, waiting, the hair on his arms standing up with unease in preparation of what was to come.

"It was... It was bad."

His gaze shifted, lowering to the hardwood floor as if it could provide him the courage to admit what was really bothering him.

"I was scared, Danny..." he whispered after a long moment, and he couldn't help the hitch in his breath as he spoke. "When they took me out of the vat, before you guys came in... before you shot Kang... I'm supposed to be stronger than this but... it was bad."

Danny tilted his heads slightly, looking away for a moment as his face crumpled in grief. _Keep it together, Williams. This is not about you._ He pursed his lips, schooled his features and turned to his best friend again. Leaning forward, he placed a reassuring hand on the back of his neck and squeezed it gently.

"You have nothing, and I mean nothing to be ashamed of, alright? I'm gonna have—hell, I already have nightmares about that thing and I didn't spend six hours..." his voice trailed off as he found himself unable to continue. "There's no SEAL training...nothing, there's absolutely nothing that can prepare you for something like that. Honestly, I'd be more surprised if you weren't."

Steve sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, struggling to accept the answer. To him what had happened inside the Arcturus, the way he'd behaved, spoke utter failure. He'd failed to defeat Kang and showed weakness to the enemy. The fact that he'd fed them false intel was cold comfort to him.

But more than that, more than the terrifying feeling of defeat and…nothingness he'd experienced, there was one thing that had cut him to the core. "Why do people keep lying to me? Greer… she betrayed me. Like Jenna. Like everyone else in my life. Why do they do that?"

The emotions that Danny had oh-so-carefully managed to keep at bay suddenly threatened to spill. What was he supposed to reply to that? What could he possibly say to deny a truth that had defined so much of his friend's life and ease a pain so deep that it was never going to heal?

"I don't know, buddy," he eventually croaked out. "I don't know why people hurt people. And I'm really sorry it keeps happening to you..."

Silence enveloped the room like a giant black cloak as Steve's leg started to nervously bounce up and down. It hung in the air, thick and heavy, so unlike the comfortable feeling the two friends had shared in the past.

Steve wanted to ask Danny what he ever did to deserve all this but the words weren't coming, and everything was too damn quiet...

No dogs barking. No settling noises. No water dripping. Not a sound, either close or in the far-off distance. The calmness unsettled him. Instead of being soothed, his senses became heightened. His heart rate sped up and he closed his eyes to try and focus on his breathing, just like he'd done inside the tank. He felt like a prey, even though no predator was in sight. Like he was back in the cocoon, where everything was dark and still, and there was no way out.

"I… I have to..." he stammered, rising to his feet.

The haunting silence was seeping into his blood, playing with his mind, paralyzing his nerves. His pupils dilated and his hands started to shake.

Danny saw the tight muscles, the clenched jaw and tensed as well, recognizing the all-too-familiar symptoms they'd dealt with before. "Buddy, you alright?"

Steve didn't reply. Lost inside a brain that was suddenly panicking and sending his body all the wrong signals he dashed towards the kitchen, holding onto the only thread that gave him hope.

 _There's no ties. No constraints. You're free._

 _Get away. Escape the silence._

"Steve? Hey, Steve!"

Cursing Greer, Kang and everyone who'd hurt his best friend in the past, Danny followed him out of the living room. He halted by the doorway, spotting his hunched frame by the sink, hands tightly gripping its edges, breathing heavily.

"What's going on, you alright?" he asked, careful not to startle him.

The answer to his question was a big, fat no. Before he could even move or offer more words of reassurance, Steve grabbed one of the glasses sitting on the counter and threw it against the opposite wall. It shattered with a satisfying thud, sending shards flying all over the floor.

 _Three days._

It had been three days and his brain was still screwed, his emotions still all over the place.

He stood there, panting as if he'd just run ten miles, staring at the mess he'd just made. Furious for reasons he couldn't really comprehend but also overwhelmed, powerless, insecure… And then just as suddenly as it had come all his anger dissipated. He leaned against the counter, running his hands through his close-cropped hair.

"I'm losing it, Danny..."

Danny inched closer, his heart lurching painfully in his chest at the emotional pain seeping out of Steve's words. "What happened?"

Battling against years of training and family upbringing that had drilled into him not to open up, the former SEAL hung his head and let out a slow, shaky breath. "Silence. I can't... I feel like I'm back in there when it's too quiet."

"Is that why you're having trouble sleeping?"

Steve nodded.

The thought of his friend struggling to chase ghosts alone in a house that was too dark and too big, haunted by memories, made Danny physically sick to his stomach, and he wished he hadn't waited this long to check on him.

He wanted to scoop him up in his arms and keep him safe from harm. Instead he moved to stand by his side and put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently.

"Alright, it's alright... it's gonna get better, I promise."

Their eyes met. Steve's were welling with unshed tears, and a sharp knife-like feeling centered through Danny's chest.

"I still see him, you know? Guy's still messing with my head three years after I shot him."

Danny didn't need the name spelled out loud. He knew who his friend was referring to. A man that, given the chance, he would've killed with his own hands. "That's understandable. He's... he's part of your history, part of who you are today. But you beat him, buddy, you survived, and that's what matters."

"Thanks, Danny."

Nodding, the Jersey native pointed to the dishes in the sink. "You wanna smash more I can give you a hand."

A heartbroken laugh came out of Steve's mouth and for a brief moment his face showed relief. He was still a mess, aching in a way that had nothing to do with physical injuries. Emotions were still coming in brutal waves and he felt wrong, disconnected.

Lonely.

Scared.

"Come on, you need to get some sleep, you're exhausted."

Steve sighed and let Danny guide him back to the living room.

Danny was his rock.

Danny would make things better.

He spoke softly as he walked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You never did…"

Danny turned his head, staring at him in confusion. "I never did what?"

"Lie to me. You never betrayed me. You're the only one…"

"I know better than that, babe. I'd never lie to you." He looked around, debating what to do. "Bed?"

Steve shook his head.

"Alright, we'll just crash down here for now."

Danny steered his friend toward the couch and gently eased him onto it, then lowered himself next to him. Sucking in a breath he leaned back against the cushion, feeling his limbs heavy with sudden fatigue.

Steve picked up on that immediately. "You must be exhausted too," he said softy. "Should've come in. Slept here on the couch instead of sitting in the car all night."

 _He knew. Of course he knew._

"I, uh… wanted to give you space. Didn't think you wanted me here."

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. It hadn't surprised him to see the Camaro parked in his driveway. It was such a Danny thing to do, caring for the people he loved. He'd felt guilty for not inviting him in but genuinely thought things would get better and one sleepless night wouldn't become two. Or three.

Silence settled around them again. Danny sensed it and reached for the remote, turning on the TV. It was unlikely they'd find something to watch at this hour and really, they were both too tired to care, but the sounds coming from it would hopefully soothe Steve's mind enough to allow him to get some rest. As for him, he'd mastered the art of sleeping through infomercials and movies. He'd barely even notice.

He cast a sideway glance at his friend, wondering if the faraway look in his eyes meant he was back inside the tank. But then Steve's shoulders slumped and the muscles on his face started to relax, slowly releasing the tension that had gripped him all day. Eyelids drooping, he stifled a yawn and adjusted his frame to a more comfortable position.

Some of the worry eased from Danny's mind as well.

Steve was a warrior. He may have slowed down but his resilience was still impressive.

He would be fine. With a little help, he'd be back to his old self in no time.

"Why red?" he asked as he kicked off his shoes and settled into the comfortable leather.

Steve snapped to attention and blinked, wondering if he'd heard him right. "What?"

"The wetsuit. Just wondering," Danny shrugged.

The shocked expression on Steve's face was so priceless he would've framed it for posterity if he'd had a camera ready. Danny propped his feet up on the coffee table and gave his friend an amused gaze.

Steve shook his head, a smile curving his lips.

"Only you, Danny… Only you…"

THE END


End file.
